


Alone Among The Wreck

by kopperblaze



Category: The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, PTSD, character death (canon)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders isn't coping well with Helen's death. Nobody seems to care, as is the norm where his family are concerned. </p><p>This is a response for a prompt on almighty_kink:</p><p>"Okay so in the latest episode we got to see Anders with PTSD about the whole Helen thing. And Mike was really not helping with the whole issue.  Anders is just hiding it and suffering in silence.</p><p>So I want nightmares/hallucinations and things that Anders tries to get rid of by sex and drugs and alcohol. And so this causes Mike, Axl to despise him more? And Ty and Olaf know something is wrong and one day it all just comes crashing down on Anders."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone Among The Wreck

_But I'll ride home laughing, look at me now_  
The walls of my town, they come crumbling down  
   
Five shots later and the body is still on the kitchen floor. Anders blinks blearily and attempts to pour himself another generous shot of vodka only to find the bottle empty. Fuck.

The glass slips through his fingers and the bottle hits the carpet with a dull thud. Anders looks at it for a few seconds before he pushes himself to his feet and stumbles towards the fridge. Halfway there he remembers that no, he can't get another one because the body is still there. He can't step over the body. Or around it. He can't-

Anders closes his eyes and inhales shakily. It makes his chest hurt and his head spin. He needs to get out of here. Turning and ignoring the world tilting dangerously he fumbles his way to the door and flees the building. Away, away from her decaying body.

~ 

He takes to sleeping at the office, then to not sleeping at all. Whenever he sleeps she's there, smiling, moaning, laughing, staring at him with accusing eyes, and he can't stand it. It's easier to drift through the world in a haze, vision blurry and feelings numbed.

"Anders." 

Anders frowns when something pokes on the edge of his conscious. He doesn't want to leave his warm, floaty bubble.

"Anders."

Dawn's face swims into focus as he raises his eyes. Anders smiles. Dawn's always nice to him. Well, she kind of has to, it's her job, but still. It's nice to pretend that she cares.

"Anders, your brother is here."

His smile falls and he slumps forward, head in his hands. If he were at Hogwarts he could get a Dreamless Sleep potion. "I wish I were a wizard, Dawn," he mumbles and giggles into his hands. 

Being a wizard would be less fucked up than being the reincarnation of a god. More useful too.

"Yeah, right. Why don't you tell Axl that, Anders." With a sigh Dawn turns around and walks back to her desk, her heels making a _click click click_ sound on the floor.

"Good luck," he hears her murmur and swallows. He doesn't want to talk to Axl. He doesn't want to talk to anybody. What he wants is to claw his itching skin off.

"Anders."

"Axl," Anders replies, gathering whatever self-control remains to raise his head again and look up at his brother. His freakishly tall brother, who probably delights in looking down on Anders.

"We need to talk."

“Do we?"

"Yes, we do," Axl pauses and looks at Anders like he's a particularly difficult math problem that needs solving. Anders wants to laugh.

"What're you on?"

Anders leans back in his chair. "Bit of this, bit of that," he shrugs. In truth he doesn't know himself. He told his dealer to give him stuff to make him forget. Stuff to keep him awake. Just . . . stuff. 

Brian supplied readily and helpfully.

Without looking up Anders knows that Axl is looking disappointed. Disgusted. Judgmental.

"We need to talk. Tonight."

"Why?" Anders asks and closes his eyes. All this talking is giving him a headache.

"About, you know," Axl huffs. "Gaia."

Ah, right. That. Just thinking about her sends an unpleasant shiver down Anders' spine. It's _wrong_ , all wrong.

"I don't give a shit about your little girlfriend," he mutters, wishing Axl would leave already. He doesn't want to think about this.

Leaning forward Anders reaches for the mostly empty bottle of Frenir on his desk and pours another shot. He can feel Axl and Dawn watching him and spills most of the vodka. Fucking fuck.

"Tonight, Mike's bar." Axl is using his Odin voice but fuck if Anders cares.

"No can do. 's a party down at the bay, apparently a Victoria's secret model’s gonna be there." Anders tosses back the shot and relishes the burn of the alcohol in his throat. He hasn't had a proper meal in days and the alcohol settles uneasily in his stomach.  
   
"Are you serious?" Axl's eyes widen and he gesticulates wildly. Anders blinks, trying to follow the movement.  
   
"Some shitty party is more important to you?"  
   
Anders flashes Axl his trademark grin, causing his younger brother to make an annoyed sound in the back of his throat.  
   
"Fucking prick," Axl mutters and shoots a last glare at Anders before turning and leaving. Anders watches him go with a sense of dejection.  
   
From across the room Helen looks at him with sad eyes.  
   
~  
   
There's no Victoria's Secret model at the party, but more than enough women glancing his way, all smiles and fluttery eyelashes. It doesn't take much convincing before Anders is sitting in a cab with one of them, Emma or Emily or something. He'll be damned if he can remember her name when he can barely tell up from down. How he manages to unlock his apartment is a mystery, but he must've accomplished it because the next thing he knows is that he's falling into bed, Emma/Emily climbing into his lap.  
   
~  
   
When Anders wakes it's to a pounding headache and a roiling stomach. Groaning he curls into the warm body next to him. For a moment he’s content, wondering if he can make Helen get up and bring him some Aspirin. The moment passes when the smell of perfume infiltrates his senses. Helen never wears perfume.  
   
Pulling back Anders peels his eyes open. Something in his chest winds tighter, squeezing and making it difficult to breathe as he takes in the bleached blonde hair and smeared eye makeup. Nothing like Helen. Nothing like her at all. It's wrong and it makes his skin itch and stomach turn.  
   
Anders barely makes it to the bathroom before he retches painfully.  
   
~  
   
Thankfully the girl has enough decency to leave in the morning without Anders having to kick her out. Or maybe he looks as disgusting as he feels and she's just happy to get away. He doesn't give a shit either way as long as she leaves.  
   
For a while all he can do is lie on the couch in sweatpants and an old hoodie that's too big for him. Anders thinks it probably belonged to Ty at some point and hee draws small comfort from it, imagining what Ty'd say if he saw him now. The world is used to seeing Anders Johnsons in sharp suits, not in ratty sweatpants and old hoodies. His family would most likely laugh, commenting that these are the first clothes he's worn in ages that are not designer.  
   
Or maybe they wouldn't care. Because they never care. His girlfriend's been killed and none of them have the decency to call. Then again, he can't remember when he last looked at his phone.   
With a sigh Anders sits up, steeling himself for the inventible dizziness washing over him as he makes for the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. His throat is parched and his hands are shaking. Coming down is horrible, but his stash is empty and he has no energy left to go out and stock up. Too much effort, too many people, when he could just sit here and stare at nothing.  
   
He gulps down a glass of water and almost retches it up again. It takes swallowing carefully several times to stop the bile from rising. For a few seconds Anders closes his eyes, giving into weariness. He's tired, so tired. The few hours he spent passed out from too much alcohol and too many drugs hardly make him feel rested.

When the glass is empty Anders opens his eyes and blinks rapidly. There's blood on the kitchen floor. Squeezing his eyes shut he inhales deeply and tries to calm his racing heart. It's not real, only something his overly tired mind projected. It's not real. It's not.  
   
The blood is still there when he reopens his eyes. The glass slips from his numb fingers as his body starts to shake and Anders feels something bubbling up in the back of his throat. Is this what the onset of hysteria feels like?  
   
When he takes a step forward he cuts the sole of his foot open on shattered glass. His knees give out and before he knows it he's on the floor, his real blood mixing with her fictional one until he can't tell them apart. Something in his chest clenches tighter and before he knows it he's laughing, laughing until he's curled up on the floor. Laughing until his cheeks are wet and he can't name the sounds tearing from his throat anymore.


End file.
